


Lessons Learned

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Things have changed a lot.  It really has gotten better.  But there's always gonna be homophobic assholes, John."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons Learned

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt "recovering". Had to dash this one out real quick to meet the deadline. Where did July go?
> 
> * * *

"I brought you some coffee," Matt says.

John looks up irritably. "My nose is broken, not my goddamn legs."

"Black," Matt says, ignoring him and putting the mug down carefully on the end table. Close enough to reach, but not close enough for John to accidentally knock it off with his elbow. "No sugar, no cream. Manly man coffee, just the way you like it."

John scowls at the mug, successfully resists the urge to push it further away. The fact that he'd just been thinking about going out to the kitchen and making himself a cup is beside the point. "I'm not a fucking invalid," he mutters. 

Matt just stands at the end of the sofa, head cocked. Studying him. Matt does that a lot, but he usually tries to be more discreet about it. This is full on gaping, impossible to ignore, so John doesn't try. He saw the bruising and the swelling before they taped him up, knows how hideous he looks. He lifts his head to meet Matt's gaze.

Matt just shakes his head. "I still can't believe you did that," he marvels.

"Punks shoulda kept their mouths shut."

Matt pushes past his legs to flop down on the sofa next to him, lifts a shoulder. "Things have changed a lot. It really has gotten better. But there's always gonna be homophobic assholes, John."

John shakes his head. When he'd first realized that the feelings he had for the kid weren't going away, he'd agonized over all the repercussions. He'd spent sleepless nights trying to figure out how to explain it to the kids, to Holly. Worrying over the reaction at the precinct, analyzing how this would affect his authority over his men, wondering how they'd react with their perceptions of him changing overnight. He'd never even considered the wider world. He'd never even anticipated that one day he'd be walking down the street just holding Matt's hand and a bunch of fucking asswipes would start running their mouths.

"Besides," Matt continues, "I could have handled it."

John snorts, and the motion sends a spike of pain behind his eyes. 

"Fists aren't the only response, you know. I can hurt with words, John. I can skewer with this tongue!"

John has a sudden flash back to a night last week, writhing on the bed while Matt worked him open with his tongue. He remembers clutching the damp sheets, struggling to keep himself grounded when Matt's tongue lapped inside him. The memory brings a flush to his cheeks even now, and he looks away quickly. He is fifty-two goddamn years old and somehow this damn kid makes him blush like he's fifteen again.

"You okay?" Matt asks. He glances up to see the kid worrying at his lower lip. "Does your head hurt? The doctor said—"

"I'm fine."

"—with all the concussions you've had, we can't take any chan—"

"I'm fine, Matt," John says. He sighs when Matt just looks at him, gives in and reaches for the mug. The coffee is thick and strong. It didn't take Matt long to master the art of making the perfect pot of coffee. Just like it didn't take long for Matt to carve out a little place for himself here, among the worn furniture and the old pictures on the mantle. He sips at his mug, looks around the room. Now there are computer parts and microscopic tools scattered on the dining room table, dolls that have migrated from Matt's office to find homes on shelves in the living room. Now he rarely eats alone. 

There is a laptop on one of the bedside tables next to Matt's spare asthma medication. There is a spill of clothes on the floor on that side of the bed. After years of sprawling out on that big double bed however he wants, John now has "his" side of the bed.

He never wants to sprawl out again. 

He puts the coffee mug down, slings an arm around Matt's shoulders. The kid's bulked up some in the months since they met – Matt may always be a slob at heart and no amount of nagging will make him pick up those damn clothes, but at least he took his advice about workouts – but he's still damn scrawny. No match for a damn bunch of smart-mouthed fuckheads. 

Maybe it's selfish – okay, it's definitely selfish – but he wants sharing pizza in front of the TV, he wants spotting Matt when he works on the weights. Hell, he even wants listening to Matt's ridiculous conspiracy theories and hauling him unceremoniously off to bed when he intends to sit in front of that damn computer all night long. He wants the long lean line of Matt in his bed, the wide-eyed look on his face when he comes. He wants the laughter and the arguments. He wants all of it and he doesn't intend to ever give it up.

He just wants the kid safe, that's all.

He pulls Matt closer. "They got no right to treat you like that."

He feels Matt sigh against his shoulder. Then the kid is propping one hand on his shoulder and swinging a leg over his, and John's lap is suddenly full of boyfriend. John shakes his head. "I don't remember ever being that flexible," he says.

Matt gives him the ghost of a smile, but the big brown eyes are serious. His hands are warm when he cups them carefully on John's cheeks, ever mindful of the bandages, the skin that's already starting to turn to purple and green below his eyes. "I can take care of myself," Matt says. "And I can take care of you."

John vaguely remembers Holly saying something similar, and it was when he didn't listen to her that things all went south. And he knows he can be possessive and controlling and a total asshole, but he's also not a complete idiot. He can learn from his mistakes.

He takes a breath, lets it out slowly. "Okay," he says. When Matt leans down to rest their foreheads together, John's next words brush against his skin. "You know," he says, "my dick ain't broken either."

Matt wiggles those bushy brows. "Now you're talking."


End file.
